


Soul Men

by greenmage128



Series: Soul Men [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Road Trips, Swan Song parallels, and parallels/references to other episodes, but mostly Swan Song, slightly cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel and Crowley have managed to eke out a little slice of paradise despite the world crashing down around them, and they think they can just sit out the remainder of the Apocalypse. A certain fallen angel is about to prove them wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At Home at the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a Blues Brothers homage-thingy, prompted by [iamyourking](http://iamyourking.tumblr.com) ages ago, which I then turned into End!verse, because it just made sense to me. I'll add more characters and tags as the chapters are uploaded, 'cause I don't want to spoil too much out of the gate. :P Oh, and the idea of a hellhound named Aziraphale is not mine; I just love it so much I had to borrow it.

“A little help here, Gabriel!”

“Sorry, cupcake! Kind of busy!”

The trouble with fighting a pack of demonic virus-infected zombies was the suckers were _fast_ and _smart_. Sure, they weren't particularly hard to kill, especially not for someone with the powers of a pagan god, but they could strategize. So while you were taking care of one, there was usually two more sneaking up behind you.

Thus Gabriel's current problem. It didn't help that guns were not his strong suit, but close combat was not a game you wanted to play with Croats. Days like this made him wish for the actual fucking Apocalypse.

“Screw it,” Gabriel said under his breath and retrieved his blade. He applied just enough magic to keep his rifle firing at the Croats furthest away while cutting through the ones directly in front of him.

Three of the zombies went down without a hitch, but Gabriel was starting to tire with his concentration split between the two tasks. He would be able to clear out the few right in front of him, but the other five waiting to take their place? That would be trouble.

“Azi, go!” he heard Crowley yell somewhere across the yard. Well hey, the hellhound was awake; that was good news.

The distraction cost him, because one of the Croats got close, and Gabriel couldn't raise his blade in time. Before the zombie could lay a hand on him, it fell flat on its face. A glance down told him it was the work of Aziraphale, the hound already sinking his monstrous teeth into the zombie's midsection.

“Crowles you softy,” the trickster said, careful to keep his voice down.

With Azi's help, Gabriel managed to take out the rest of the Croats. As soon as they were gone, he went to join Crowley's battle, only to find the demon standing calmly amidst the corpses of his fallen enemies. Par for the course.

“What took you so long?”

Gabriel made a show of counting the bodies. “Oh you know, just had to take out, hmm, twice as many zombie freaks as you did. No big deal.”

Crowley smirked. “Sure you did, love.” His expression and tone were sarcastic, but his eyes were giving Gabriel and Azi a quick once-over.

The action didn't go unnoticed, and the concern brought a smile to Gabriel's face, smug and saccharine all at once. “Well, all that fighting worked up an appetite. I'm just gonna-”

“Don't you dare-”

But the trickster was already snapping himself into the house. Perhaps not his brightest idea, given the circumstances, but with Azi on guard it seemed like an acceptable risk. Gabriel landed himself at the threshold of the kitchen just to screw with Crowley, but the taunt got caught in his throat when he saw the state of the room.

“What the bloody hell?” came the demon's voice from behind him.

“I swear it wasn't me, Crowles,” was all Gabriel could think to say. He took a tentative step into the kitchen.

Paper was everywhere, almost covering the tile floor and at least half of the counter space. The little printer in the corner was silent by now, but little wisps of smoke were rising out of the machine's business end.

“It looks like the angel radio vomited in here,” Gabriel said. “I'm surprised Azi didn't wake up sooner.”

“Fucking windbags,” Crowley said and waved a hand, the papers beginning to collect themselves into some semblance of order. “Don't they know brevity is the soul of wit?”

Gabriel snorted out a laugh. “Not when it's important.” He snatched one of the papers from the air and skimmed the text within. The word “Detroit” popped up several times. Too many times. “Damn it.”

Crowley was busy retrieving his roast from the oven. Even during the dreaded End Times he cooked like Betty fucking Crocker. “What is it?”

The trickster picked up another sheet, trying to piece together the story. “I think… It looks like Lucifer's making one last big push. He's fortifying Detroit, so no one with a pair of wings can get in.”

“If there were any left willing to try.” Crowley jabbed a thermometer into the meat before turning to Gabriel. “Of course all your brother's going to accomplish is wiping out the humans, as long as Michael's still floating up in the clouds.”

“Unless he's got a vessel,” Gabriel said, the words thick and heavy on his tongue. And there was the guilt that seemed programmed into an angel's being. He'd almost missed it. “But we would've heard about it, right? I know Zachariah would be shouting it from the mountaintops.”

“Something tells me there'd be whole choirs singing about it all over the bloody world. Ineffable plan and all that.” Crowley glanced back to the thermometer. “Looks like dinner's done. I say we deal with the Apocalypse on a full stomach.”

“Just like old times.” Gabriel found himself smiling despite the unease worming its way into the pit of his stomach. “I'll bring the wine.”

* * *

“I will never be convinced that you don't add even just a little magic to your cooking,” Gabriel said. He leaned back on the couch and added a belch for dramatic effect, not that it made the action any less sincere. Crowley's cooking was that good, and the bastard knew it.

“Believe what you want,” Crowley said, giving the barest of smiles over his glass of wine. In his other hand was one of the angel radio papers, and Gabriel would've protested the notion of working through dinner, but in this case he let it go. An exception every once and a while never hurt anyone.

That didn't mean he could avoid the subject, so he didn't bother trying. “So, what's the verdict? Is it the dreaded Sunday dinner?”

Crowley made a noise in his throat and put the paper back into the pile he'd manage to organize on the coffee table. “The end of the end, I'm afraid. There's no word on Michael getting his vessel, but Lucifer's acting like it's all about to come down.”

“Always was trigger happy. At least some things don't change.” Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes. “Finally, it's almost over.”

“Don't sound so relieved, darling,” Crowley said before seating himself on the couch next to Gabriel.

The trickster couldn't help but lean against his demon, resting his head on Crowley's shoulder. “I'm just tired,” he said, words running together as the wine and the exertions of the day caught up with him.

His fatigue shifted to something else when Crowley's hand found its way to the nape of his neck and started massaging the tense muscles there. “Mm. It is nice to have a deadline.” And then that rasping baritone was in his ear, whispering, “Makes me think we should make the most of what time we've got left.”

Gabriel couldn't help his shiver. “You and your ideas, cupcake,” he said with a smirk and opened his eyes to see Crowley wearing a matching expression.

With a snap of the demon's fingers, they were transported to the bedroom, and at least for the night Gabriel was able to forget about his guilt and his exhaustion. Crowley made sure of that.


	2. A Mission From God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fallen angel comes crashing in, and he bears exciting news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to [Karu](http://happyfunballxd.tumblr.com/) for helping to motivate me to finish this chapter. Hopefully the next one won't be as difficult.

Gabriel knew he'd slept late when he was awoken by the sulphuric breath of a hellhound. He pushed Azi's muzzle away from his face, mumbling, "Five more minutes."

Azi whined and pressed his nose to Gabriel’s palm insistently.

The trickster cracked open his eyes to see the hound giving him the most pathetic look, exhaustion written all over the pup’s face. Gabriel could sympathize. “All right, mutt, I’m up.” He rolled over onto his back and was surprised to find Crowley still in bed as well, though the demon was at least sitting up. “What’s the occasion?” Gabriel asked.

“End of the world, love. No rush,” Crowley said, his tone easy, and it was only now that Gabriel noticed the book in his lap.

How long had he slept? Gabriel wiped the sleep from his eyes, trying to wake himself up, an effort that had gotten a lot more difficult to do in the last couple years. He shifted to his left side to better look at the demon. “It took almost three hundred years, but the hedonism has finally gotten to you. Though I think Azi would disagree with you right about now.”

Crowley tossed a bone to the oversized dog bed in the corner of the room. Azi gave a grateful bark and bounded after it. “The poor pup’s only tired because you slept in.”

“You could have woken me up at any time.”

“Believe me, I tried. I would’ve resorted to drastic measures, but I remember what happened last time.”

“Hey, you managed to make it out alive. I did fix the house afterwards.” Gabriel sighed and pulled himself into a slouch, half-resting against the headboard. The Croats _had_ lightened up lately, comparatively speaking, so they could afford a little rest and relaxation, something he was never opposed to. “Y’know, breakfast in bed sounds like a brilliant idea right about now.”

The demon went back to his book. “You’re the one with the trickster powers, darling.”

“Effort,” Gabriel said with a vague hand-wave, as if that explained everything. A devilish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Hmm. Do you accept payments in other forms?”

“I could be persuaded,” Crowley said, and though he didn’t look up from his reading, his voice was deep, deeper than usual, accent laid on extra-thick, just the way Gabriel liked.

In one easy motion, the trickster pulled himself up, plucked the book from Crowley’s hands, and straddled the demon’s hips. He leaned in, lips ghosting against Crowley’s, and said, “Well then, let me see what I can come up with.”

Somewhere outside there was a crash, just close enough to pull Gabriel’s gaze away from Crowley. Azi too had his head raised, tail thumping against the wall, shaking the house down to the foundation. They’d have to fix that later.

“Probably Croats. The wards will keep them at bay.” Crowley nudged Gabriel’s chin to return the trickster’s eyes to him. “You were saying?”

Gabriel should’ve complained about the blatant risk, one that neither of them would normally take, but the demon’s hands were sliding down his sides, to his hips, and suddenly he couldn’t be bothered to think that far ahead.

Another crash sounded, closer this time, close enough that Gabriel could make out oddly calm cries for help if he strained to listen. Azi growled, and the trickster couldn’t help the exasperated, needy whine that escaped his own throat.

“Wards, huh?” Gabriel forced himself out of Crowley’s embrace and slid off the bed, headed for the closet.

Something—maybe even someone—banged on the front door, interrupting whatever retort Crowley had. The demon sighed and stood as well. “I swear, if it’s a bunch of humans looking for asylum, I'm going to be very _not_ -careful about my aim.”

“Crowles.”

“Fine. I’ll keep one eye open.”

They dressed and went out to the living room. Crowley retrieved the rifle he kept stashed under the couch (the one piece of advice he’d ever accepted from Bobby Singer) and opened the front door.

Standing on the porch was a pack of about ten Croats, as anticipated, along with the last person either of them expected to see, except perhaps a Winchester.

“Damn it, Cas,” Crowley said, pulling the poor man into the house by his sleeve.

A Croat made a grab for the fallen angel before he slipped past the wards, but it got the business end of Crowley’s rifle instead.

Castiel landed on the floor in gasping, messy heap. He looked up at Gabriel, blue eyes far more lucid than the last time Gabriel had seen him. But even he couldn’t have stayed stoned for an entire year. “Hello, brother.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gabriel asked, kneeling down and searching his brother for injury with what magic he could spare. Somehow he’d made it through the scuffle with the Croats unscathed. “What happened to the ‘Follow Dean Around Like a Lost Puppy’ plan?”

Before Cas could answer, unlikely in any event, Crowley finished up with the zombies, slamming the door shut and swinging round to face them, gun dangerously loose in his grip.

“You. Start explaining.”

The man who had once been the Winchesters’ pet angel sat upright and leaned against Gabriel’s side. He managed to actually look comfortable resting on the yellowed and cracked linoleum. “I have a mission for you two.”

“A mission?” Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Crowley folded his arms, rifle tucked almost protectively against his chest, and shot the trickster a look. “If you start parroting, I will bloody kill you, angel,” he said, though the words lacked venom.

Gabriel noted the protest and stuck his tongue out all the same. The demon only rolled his eyes.

“Yes, a mission. From Chuck, if you can believe it,” Castiel said.

“The wiry little prophet? Since when did Dad start talking to him again?” There was a hint of jealousy in Gabriel’s voice, though he’d deny it with his last breath. He shook his head. “Well it’s something, I guess. What’s this holy mission about?”

Castiel cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “Saving the world.”

“What?” Gabriel and Crowley asked at the same time.

The fallen angel chuckled, a bitter, half-strangled sound. “I realize it sounds crazy, but it’s what God wants.”

“Let me see if I have this right. Your Father hasn’t spoken in six thousand years, and this is what He comes up with?” Crowley set down his rifle and rubbed his face. “To send a fallen archangel and a demon to rescue the planet from the depths of despair? Why? Better yet, how?”

“You two are the only agents of Heaven and Hell not on Michael or Lucifer’s side. Well, there is Balthazar, but he’s another matter entirely.” Castiel paused, leaning a little heavier against his brother. “The last hold-outs for Team Free Will. This has to be you.”

“The last…?” Gabriel grabbed Castiel’s shoulder to bring him the few inches down to eyelevel. “What about you? Or Dean? Wasn’t all that his idea in the first place?” At Cas’ silence, he frowned. “You’re kidding. Not him too.”

Castiel nodded, his gaze unfaltering. “The next time Dean goes hunting, he won’t return to camp. He’ll be headed for Detroit.”

“The moose must’ve known he wouldn’t hold out forever. Fucking Winchesters.” Crowley sighed. “Though I have to wonder why it took Lucifer so long to figure out.”

Gabriel snorted. “I’m sure that kid’s head was so scrambled it gave even Luci trouble.”

“Sam would not have just given up that information.” Cas’ voice was this side of a growl. He stared down them both, a light suddenly in his eyes that hadn’t been seen for many a year. “Even as a vessel, he would’ve guarded any information regarding Dean with nothing less than his entire being.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Right. You still haven’t told us how we’re supposed to do this. I am not going to try and stop the Apocalypse without a plan. Not again.”

“You won’t have to,” Castiel said, his tone even and calm once more. From his pocket he pulled out two rings, one plain gold and the other silver with a black stone.

The trickster snatched them out of Cas’ hand. He held the gold one up, midday sunshine glinting sharply off the surface. “Are these what I think they are?”

Crowley took the other but held it at arm’s length, like a piece of jewelry would do him harm. Well, these particular ones might be able to. “The rings of Famine and War? Seriously, Cas?”

Castiel nodded. “If you can get the other two, you should be able to unlock Lucifer’s cage. All you have to figure out is how to stuff him back in it, maybe even Michael too. At least all of this would stop.”

“What about Raphael? He’d just spring the lock the minute our backs are turned.” The question was directed at Castiel, but Crowley’s eyes were on Gabriel.

There was that guilt again, gnawing away at the pit of the trickster’s stomach. He couldn’t hold the demon’s gaze, instead focusing on the ring in his hand, turning it over from palm to palm like it was the most fascinating thing in the fucking world. “We have to try either way. This is the best solution. No would have to die, not Lucifer, not Michael, not even the Winchesters. And it would put an end to all this Ineffable Plan nonsense.”

“Chuck thought you might like it.” Castiel put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, and the trickster found it in him to look up. The brothers shared a little smile before Cas turned to Crowley. “Though he thought you would be easier to convince.”

“It’s not the idea I’m opposed to, it’s the risk,” Crowley said, still looking at Gabriel. “Though seeing as we’re dead either way, we might as well.”

Gabriel met Crowley’s eyes again, and he found himself smirking. “We would technically be making the most of the time we’ve got left.

The demon shook his head, a smile fighting its way to his face. “Us on a mission from God. Your Father is off his rocker.”

Castiel joined in on the mirth. “It’s been six thousand years since He last intervened directly. Anyone would be a bit rusty after all that time.” He stood, and Gabriel followed suit. Cas, wavering on his feet, didn’t give him much choice.

“So, where are good ole Death and Pestilence, or whatever he’s calling himself these days?” Gabriel asked, putting one arm around Castiel’s shoulders to steady him.

The fallen angel gave him a grateful nod. “Pestilence is holed up at the headquarters of Niveus Pharmaceuticals, home of the Croatoan virus. He doesn’t make a secret of it, so it is heavily fortified. As for Death, I can’t say. I tried to interrogate a reaper, but…”

Crowley nodded. “Not the talkative type. Luckily, I think we have some strings we can pull.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Great. He’ll probably want me to apologize after last time.”

“Probably, angel?”

Castiel let out a laugh, little and meek though it was. “You’ll need transportation first, I imagine.”

The trickster raised an eyebrow, holding up the hand that wasn’t holding up Cas. “Um, pagan god vessel, remember?”

“I meant a way that wouldn’t end up killing you,” Castiel said, deadpan. He reached into his pocket again and extracted a set of keys. “This is far safer, and she’s all fixed up with a full tank of gas.”

“Is that…” Crowley took the keys and stared at them wide-eyed. “The Impala?”

With a nod, Castiel replied, “Dean abandoned her not long after Sam left. I think, in a way, that car was meant to save the world.”

Gabriel’s jaw went slack, and after a moment he turned and hugged his brother, holding the fallen angel fiercely against his chest. There was so much he should’ve said, so much apologizing and explaining, but instead he opted for pulling back to look at Cas, _really_ look at him, and asking, “You’ll be all right getting back?”

“I’ve got a ride,” Castiel said, squeezing Gabriel’s shoulder in return. “Be safe, and don’t let us down.”

* * *

Two duffels full of clothes, plus another full of candy, took up what space was left in the Impala’s trunk, after the standard hunter equipment—assorted guns and knives, salt, and oil and water of the holy variety. Azi didn’t need an invitation to curl up in the backseat, while Gabriel called shotgun. Crowley wouldn’t have let him drive anyway.

The demon revved the Impala’s engine, smiling a little. “Cas didn’t make it any quieter.”

“Part of the image, cupcake.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a pair of sunglasses materialized on both their faces. “And so is this. Don’t fight it.”

Crowley chuckled, which the trickster took as agreement. “So, Death or Pestilence?”

Neither was a pleasant option, but then again there wasn’t much “pleasant” left in the world these days. “Death.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see us.”

“Hey, the less Croats the better.”

“You’re going to regret saying that, darling.”

“What else is new? Hit it.”

The Impala roared, and they were off to save the world.


	3. The Horsemen's Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe's not the only fallen angel with tricks up his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short. Sorry guys! The next (two?) will be much longer and more satisfying, I promise. To be fair, the plot actually does progress in this chapter, if only a little. Everything will make sense later! Just remember that!

“Wasn’t there an AC/DC mix-tape in here?” Gabriel asked, as he was rifling through Dean’s old box of cassettes. “I swear I just saw it.” He paused in his searching and slowly raised his head to look at Crowley. “Why are all these tapes suddenly Queen?”

The demon kept his eyes on the road, but there was a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “It’s still technically classic rock.”

Gabriel wanted to be mad, but all he could do was smile. He appreciated loophole abuse, even when he was the victim. “Right. All that Mercury though. You might get a little sick of it.”

“What’s the phrase?” Crowley plucked a tape from the box and jammed it into the cassette deck, the opening strains of “Bohemian Rhapsody” crackling out of the Impala’s speakers. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?”

The trickster laughed. If there was a better time or place to apply Winchester logic, he couldn’t think of one. “So, do you want to call the weasel, or shall I?”

Crowley reached into his jacket, one hand on the steering wheel, and pulled out a little bundle of cloth. “I’d rather do this in person. It’ll give him one less way to wriggle out of it.”

“Point taken.” Gabriel took the bag of spell ingredients and double-checked them. “I saw a sign for a rest stop about a mile up ahead. We can do it there.”

* * *

After securing the rest stop, Crowley laid out the sigils and ingredients, and Gabriel rattled off the Enochian incantation for the summoning.

Balthazar appeared before them, looking rather impeccable given the circumstances. He didn’t even bat an eyelash when Crowley ignited the ring of holy oil with a flick of his wrist. “Is that necessary?” was all he asked.

“Not taking any chances,” Crowley said.

Gabriel shot the demon a look. “We need a favor, Balthazar. Just some information.”

“Well I suppose this is better than the last time we met. You still owe me an apology and a new suit, Gabe.” The blond crossed his arms. “So what’s in it for me, should I divulge this information?”

“I’d direct you to Crowley’s tailor, but our brother kind of destroyed him. But, your continued existence is always a nice bonus,” Gabriel said, brandishing his archangel blade.

“Please. I work for the Horsemen. You really think _you’re_ capable of deciding if I live or die?” Balthazar scoffed, and the trickster couldn’t help his huff of frustration. “I’ll need something more substantial. A hellhound seems like a rather useful companion nowadays, don’t you think?”

Azi barked at the mention of his species, which turned into a little whine as his master scratched his ears.

“Fine.” Crowley spat out the word like it was a bullet of rock salt. “My hound for the location of Death and how to defeat Pestilence.”

Balthazar took a half-step back, eyes widening. “What? Why the bloody hell would you want to go near either of them?”

Gabriel exchanged a glance with Crowley before answering. “One we owe a few favors. The other, well… You can’t tell me you’re not fed up with all the Croats running around.”

For a moment Balthazar considered them, looking from Gabriel to Crowley and back again, as if to gauge their seriousness. Apparently satisfied he said, “All right, you have a deal. And, because I’m feeling generous, I’ll even give back the dog once the job is done.”

“Yeah, that’s why.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. Crowley _would_ come back for Azi once the world was safe and sound, and any angel or demon with half a brain cell would know that. “So, where’s Death?”

“You know, he never actually tells me, but you know how he feels about human food. I have heard there’s this great little restaurant on the bayou that’s somehow still in business despite two economic depressions and the bloody Apocalypse.” Balthazar shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’d start there.”

Crowley nodded, frowning. “I know the place. More than one rival restaurateur made a deal to get it shut down, but I could never touch it.”

“Wait, ‘bayou’? Like New Orleans? Damn,” Gabriel said. He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. “That’s a long drive. Let’s hope we can make it there in one piece.”

“For now the angels are too focused on Detroit. Lucifer and Pestilence might be a different matter. Speaking of.” A piece of parchment appeared from thin air in front of Balthazar. “Can’t tell you how to kill the slimy bastard, but I know how to knock him out.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “The Horsemen entrusted you with a list of their weaknesses?”

Balthazar smiled wide, pride radiating from him in waves. Rare were the moments when he had the upper hand over them, so Gabriel let him have it. “War gave it to me, before that little Team Free Will ganked her and Famine. She figured it might come in handy some day. Looks like the best way to incapacitate Pestilence is to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“That will be my pleasure. Shouldn’t be too hard, given that he’s headquartered at the source of that damn virus,” Crowley said.

Gabriel dispersed the flames and was surprised that Balthazar hadn’t grabbed Azi and ran. Something had shifted in the angel’s face; he didn’t even comment when the hound slinked over to his side. The trickster knew better than to push.

It turned out he didn’t have to. “Before you go,” Balthazar said, the words seeming to force themselves from his mouth. “I have to ask. Have you seen Cas? Is he all right?”

The lie came to Gabriel’s tongue before he could even stop to think about it. “Wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen him since Sam left.”

He didn’t turn to see, but he could feel Crowley’s surprised stare. Balthazar, on the other hand, hardly blinked. The angel actually smiled a bit.

“Right. I should’ve known he wouldn’t have left Dean’s side after all that.”

As Gabriel and Crowley were headed back to the Impala, Balthazar shouted, “Have fun saving the world. Give Luci and Mike a kiss for me, would you?” before flying off.

Crowley paused halfway to the driver’s side. “Bollocks.”

The trickster glanced back at the summoning circle, unable to hold back a smirk. “Well, he never was the oblivious one.”

“Let’s just go.”


	4. Down in New Orleans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gabriel and Crowley learn that with Death there's always a catch. Or why angels and demons need more chick-flick moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I continue to be on schedule (updated every Wednesday, as long as it's still Wednesday somewhere in the world, though my goal will always be by 11:59 pm EST). Also, there's some backstory here, for any of you wondering just how the hell our intrepid heroes are still alive.
> 
> Also, if you haven't been catching my references/shout outs (mostly to _Good Omens_ , 'cause COME ON, we're dealing with Crowley and the Apocalypse here—where else was my mind supposed to go?) at this point, well there's some more to miss here. Actually, if you've seen the last traditionally-animated Disney movie at all, you probably won't miss it. I wasn't entirely subtle about it. What? It's a great movie!

Balthazar had been right. The only thing they encountered on the two day drive was the occasional pack of Croats. Speed was on their side, aided by the fact that they didn’t need to sleep nearly as much as before. Being on the road, as opposed to holding down a fortified position, had its advantages.

The city of New Orleans was a different story. Gabriel had indulged in many a Mardi Gras himself, so it rather pained him to see the place so empty, houses ravaged and streets full of debris where humans must’ve built barricades attempting to hold out against the Croats. Navigating the Impala through the mess was difficult, but Crowley applied a little telekinesis to ease the way, though he was careful not to cause any more damage than had already been done. The trickster refrained from calling him out on this, but the thought made him smile.

“What are we even looking for?” Gabriel asked after they’d managed to reach the waterfront.

Crowley lifted the pieces of what had been a mansion out of the road, settling them back into place while Gabriel drove. “An old sugar mill. It should be falling to bits by now, but I doubt it, not with the amounts of hoodoo involved.”

The trickster raised an eyebrow. “You really tried to bring this place down. What happened to the poor saps you made deals with when you couldn’t? Can’t imagine they were happy.”

“I compensated them in other ways naturally. For instance, none of their businesses failed while they were alive. Never had a complaint about that one.” Crowley shrugged and craned his neck while he tried to look out the driver’s side window. “There it is.”

He hadn’t been kidding. It _was_ an old sugar mill, just with a fresh coat of paint, tastefully-strung lights, and a big neon sign reading “Maddy’s”. There was a warm glow coming through the windows, which was odd enough, never mind the big white Cadillac parked out front.

“Subtle,” Gabriel said and started making his way over. A few twists and turns later, he was pulling into the little parking lot.

He cut the Impala’s engine, but neither made any move to leave the car.

Crowley gripped the door handle like it was a lifeline. “Why your Father thought this was a good idea is beyond me. But he usually has his reasons, right?”

“Sure.” The trickster swallowed hard. The reality of the situation hit him, how they might not walk out of here alive. This whole thing went against both their natures, but they didn’t have much of a choice, or a whole lot of time to mull it over. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The restaurant was even more inviting on the inside, and _now_ Gabriel could feel the hoodoo. It wasn’t a malevolent sort of magic, as much love and care and _home_ as there was wrapped into it, but magic it was, and the feeling set him on edge.

While there were several white-clothed tables filling up the room, the trickster guessed somewhere upwards of thirty, only one had an occupant. Everything about him was a sharp contrast to his surroundings—from the coldness of his eyes, to the beaky nose, right down to his black suit and tie. This was their man. Horseman, rather.

“I’m surprised you two had the gall to track me down,” Death said, voice icy as his stare. “Come, sit. You must try the beignets. You would love them, Gabriel.”

Exchanging a glance, Gabriel and Crowley made their way over to Death’s table. The demon took a chair without argument, while Gabriel couldn’t resist grabbing a pastry from the plate in the middle of the table. The Horseman did have impeccable taste in food.

“These are good,” Gabriel said after taking a bite, powdered sugar flying everywhere. He knew Crowley was giving him a murderous glare, but the trickster couldn’t help himself. “Are they what’ve kept this place open so long?”

“Mm.” Death stared at him, face neutral and unreadable. “Some things are worth mucking about the normal order for. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Gabriel swallowed hard on the last bite of his beignet, throat suddenly dry. He tried to speak, but Crowley stepped in for him.

“About that—”

“Why have you come, and why shouldn’t I reap you where you sit?”

Only the trickster’s pride kept him planted in his chair, but he couldn’t say the same for his courage.

Crowley straightened, chin high and shoulders squared, but his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table gave him away. “We need your ring.”

Death quirked one eyebrow, the only thing that shifted in his expression. “I see. Planning to stop the Apocalypse, are you?”

“Dad’s orders,” Gabriel said, voice far too hoarse for his liking.

“And you’re his two most obedient servants.”

“Desperate times.” Crowley didn’t meet Death’s eyes. “We’re the only ones left who haven’t picked a side.”

The Horseman gave a short laugh and leaned back in his seat. “I suppose I’ve no one to blame but myself for that, though we all know that’s not the _real_ reason God thought you capable of this insane task.”

Rather than making a big show and risking getting himself killed, all Gabriel said was, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The demon did not have such a tight lid on his emotions (not that he ever did). He turned to Gabriel, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What did you do?”

Gabriel’s self-control snapped at that. “What did _I_ do? What the hell did _you_ do?” He shoved Crowley’s shoulder. “You said you wouldn’t get involved. You _promised_.”

Crowley sputtered, glaring at the trickster. “So did you, you bastard. If it was those bloody Winchesters—”

“For once, they weren’t involved,” Death said. He cleared his throat. “Why am I not surprised that you couldn’t be bothered to be honest with each other? If it will get you to shut up, I’ll show you what happened.”

Before they could protest, the Horseman reached across the table and put a hand on their foreheads. The scene around them shifted, magic rippling in the air. When it all settled, they were standing in a rundown hovel of a building, ill-maintained wards against Heaven and Hell lining its walls, and a second Crowley had joined them, this one’s suit only slightly shabbier than the genuine article’s.

Vision-Crowley was a mess—face haggard and eyes bloodshot, like he was hungover and hadn’t slept in days. No sooner had the exhausted demon arrived than he collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest and grunting in pain, though he had neither wound or assailant.

That didn’t last long. Two demons popped into the room, grinning wide like mad dogs.

“Thought the so-called King of the Crossroads would be harder to catch,” one of them said.

The other laughed and kneeled next to Crowley. “Lucifer’s going to be so pleased to hear of your death. Rumor is he put out the hit even before you had the audacity to send the Winchesters and the Colt after him. Guess he always knew you’d be an upstart.”

“He’s just a jealous brat,” Crowley said, spitting out blood.

Gabriel felt himself smile, a shred of pride swelling in his chest. The demon at Crowley’s side didn’t take the barb as well and put a hand over his heart. A red light erupted under Crowley’s skin, and his body slumped to the floor.

“Why did you just—” the trickster started to ask, but Crowley, the one who stood alive next to him, cut him off, as if he had anticipated the question.

“I couldn’t stop them. Everything was…” The demon waved a vague hand in the air, and when his eyes met Gabriel’s he looked lost.

Death coughed. “Perhaps this will explain it.”

The hovel morphed into an ornate banquet hall, and Gabriel winced. It would be his turn, wouldn’t it?

Many of the heavy-hitters of the pagan world sat in the hall: Odin, Ganesh, Baldur, Kali, Mercury, among others. The Greeks at least had been smart enough not to show up. The gods were discussing something when in waltzed Gabriel with a swagger that was, in hindsight, a bit too obvious.

Kali stood when he entered, Baldur right behind her. Angry words were exchanged, even though Gabriel had come to help, to tell them not to resist Lucifer or Michael, to just wait out the Apocalypse.

None of them bought it, especially not Kali. She advanced on him, pulled him in close like she had so many times before, and grabbed the archangel blade from his pocket.

Gabriel smiled at the betrayal. “How long have you known?”

Kali returned the expression, pressing the blade to his throat. “Much longer than you think, _Loki_.”

“Don’t do this,” Gabriel said. He reached for her free hand, but she pulled it away just as his fingertips brushed her skin. “Please, Kali. You’re only going to make it worse.”

Behind them Baldur scoffed. “Let them come.” Kali took the words like an order and sunk the blade home.

The scene faded to black, but Death didn’t return them to the restaurant, not just yet. Black nothingness turned to a gray, dying forest, Purgatory in all its glory. The trickster winced. If he never had to think about that place again, it would be too soon.

Two different scenes played at once. Gabriel and Crowley both made their way through the woods, running and fighting and collecting souls along the way, every action far too risky and haphazard for their normal selves. Covered in sweat, grime, and blood, both monster and their own, they each reached Death. The Horseman in the vision was as unimpressed as ever, but he let them pass back into the realm of the living with minimal fuss.

“I just want to know why,” Death said, hand pausing just before opening the portal.

Demon and trickster hesitated, glancing around like the other could hear him, and after a moment said, “I just need to get back to him. That’s all I want.”

The Horseman nodded. “Then I ask one thing in return. The Apocalypse is messy enough for me. Don’t make it worse.”

Purgatory’s gloom brightened back into the golden glow of the restaurant. They were all seated again, only Death appearing unchanged by the whole ordeal.

“Well, I’ll give you two credit. You did what I asked,” he said. “Which I suppose is nothing short of a miracle.”

Carefully avoiding looking at Crowley, Gabriel asked, “So… you’ll do it?”

Death picked up a beignet and bit into it. “Hmm. Perhaps.”


	5. Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Gabriel make some deals, and the angels start to catch on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm still on schedule! Though it was a near thing, I'll admit. But it's still Wednesday in my timezone. That's what's important. :) Also, I apologize if this chapter comes off as uneven; balancing the snark and crack and angst and fluff isn't easy, but I think I've managed to pull it off. Maybe? Either way, enjoy!

“Perhaps? Well doesn’t that just sound lovely.” Crowley crossed his arms. “What are your conditions this time?”

Around his mouthful of pastry, Death said, “If I give you my ring, you have to follow through. There’ll be no running off when the going gets tough. I would like balance restored to this little planet, but I have to know it will get done.”

Were it anyone else, Gabriel would have argued, attempted to defend his honor, but there was no sense in fibbing to the Horseman. It would only get them killed faster. “We won’t run. Not this time. I mean, we’re dead either way, so we might as well go for the gold.”

Crowley chuckled, and Gabriel could hear the discomfort in his voice. “Besides, Balthazar’s holding my hound hostage.”

“Is he? Always was clever, that one. I’ll have to promote him.” Death finished off his beignet, his expression lighter than before. “Well, since that’s settled, what’s your plan to get Michael and Lucifer to jump into the Cage? Ask them nicely?”

Gabriel bit his lip, because he honestly hadn’t thought about it. “Well we can’t just push them in. I’d rather not get smote by my brothers, thank you very much.”

“We could…” Crowley paused and took a deep breath. That was never good. “We could appeal to their vessels. Try to get Sam and Dean to listen and take control.”

Death scoffed. “It would be the first time anyone’s gotten a Winchester to listen, but I suppose it’s the only solid plan.”

The trickster put on his best cocky grin, even if everyone at the table could see through it. “Hey, it’s better than no plan. Plus we have the Impala. All we have to do is put a couple dents in the hood, and even Michael at his best wouldn’t be able to hold back Dean.”

“That sounds cruel even for you, _Loki_.” Death removed the ring from his right hand but stopped short of handing it to Crowley. “Before you go off to save the world, I need one more promise.”

Both Gabriel and Crowley were silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the Horseman to call in his chips and seal their fate.

The stare Death gave them sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. “If this works, that is if the Apocalypse is put on indefinite hold, I don’t want to see either of you again. And if I do, well.”

“Trust us, that won’t be a problem,” Crowley said, words tripping over each other.

Gabriel nodded. “Right. That first time was a fluke. Won’t happen again.”

Death didn’t ease his gaze, but he did relinquish the ring. “Let’s hope not.”

* * *

The trickster forced himself not to flee from the restaurant, every movement stiff and controlled. Crowley was in-step with him all the way out to the Impala, which only made the urge to run worse. Gabriel went for the passenger side door as soon as he could, but the demon’s voice stopped him right his fingers reached the handle.

“Why did you try to help the pagans? You know they’re a stubborn, dense-as- _fuck_ lot.”

Gabriel fiddled with the door handle, still not looking at Crowley and shrugged. “They were my friends once upon a time. I figured I owed them the warning.” Taking a deep breath he didn’t need, he forced his eyes upwards. Crowley was pale and shaking, but his gaze was steady, brown eyes focused on Gabriel and searching. Without thinking, the trickster asked, “What about you? Why risk giving the Colt to the Winchesters?”

“Well I wasn’t going to walk up to Lucifer myself, was I? And I thought your brother would be too busy to come after me if it failed, or that I’d be able to outrun him. I didn’t count on you growing a pair.” Amusement and frustration danced on the edge of Crowley’s tone, so familiar that it made Gabriel relax despite his unease with the conversation.

“Neither did I,” the trickster said, letting out the words with a laugh. It was true; up until the moment he appeared in that banquet hall he wasn’t sure he was going to go through with warning the gods. Doubt, guilt gnawed at him then like it did now, like it always did. “I should’ve ran the moment I saw Kali, but I just…”

Crowley blinked out and reappeared at Gabriel’s side. “Don’t. Self-flagellation isn’t attractive, love.” He wrapped an arm around Gabriel’s waist, resting his forehead against the trickster’s. “In the spirit of not-running, how about we rearrange the terms of our old deal, hmm?”

“’Cause we upheld that one so well.”

The demon gave his best Sam Winchester impression.

Gabriel dialed back the sarcasm, but only just. “Fine. What new terms do you suggest, cupcake?”

“No more going off on our own in secret or stupid heroics,” Crowley said. “Beyond what we’ve already sworn to do, of course.”

“Just us and the Apocalypse, huh?” Gabriel aimed for wryness, but he saw that image of Crowley dying, dying because of _him_ , again in his mind, and his voice cracked at the thought. He clutched the lapel of the demon’s jacket and pulled him in for a deep, trembling kiss.

Something shifted in the air around them, and Crowley smirked against his lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The trickster grinned. “One last deal for the King of the Crossroads. C’mon, let’s go, before the rest of Creation figures out what we’re up to.”

* * *

New Orleans was behind them, vanishing into a dot in the rearview mirror. Gabriel resumed his position as navigator, a map of the US spread across his lap, while Crowley tapped out the drumline of “We Will Rock You” on the steering wheel.

“Nine hundred miles,” Gabriel said. He traced a line up the map from Louisiana to Ohio, where Pestilence was ensconced. “Think we can make it in time?”

“Make it in time for what?”

The Impala swerved, Crowley growling out a curse as he struggled to regain control of the car. The trickster turned to see Zachariah lounging in the backseat.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Zachariah, still using his favorite balding vessel that made every facial expression a smarmy one, smirked. “You don’t sound pleased to see me, Gabe. Didn’t miss your favorite garrison commander? Or has slumming it as a pagan these last two years made you forget all your ties to Heaven?”

Gabriel ground out a smile. “Oh, I could never forget you, Zach. And I am glad to see you. Reminds me that I need to angel-proof the car.”

“Sticks and stones.” Zachariah clicked his tongue and leaned forward to rest his arms on the back of the front seat. “So, what’s this about going somewhere? I mean, you guys haven’t moved since this whole thing began, so it makes an angel wonder when you’re suddenly off road-tripping in the Winchesters’ old ride.”

Crowley slammed on the brakes and then punched the accelerator, sending Zachariah flying backwards, body hitting the backseat with a satisfying thud. “Oh you know,” the demon called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the road. “Just had to get out of the house.”

“Cabin fever. It’s a bitch.” Gabriel eased his archangel blade from his sleeve and dragged the tip across his palm. He angled his hand so the trickle of blood ran down his fingers, but he didn’t take his eyes off Zachariah.

The angel hissed as he sat up, smart enough to stay back this time. “Out on a jaunt without your faithful hellhound? Crowley I’m surprised you let that poor thing out of your sight. Be a shame if something happened to him while you weren’t there.”

Gabriel twisted his arm and started drawing the Enochian banishing sigil, a difficult task to accomplish both backwards and blind. “You know, as much time as you spent with Raphael and Naomi, they never taught you how to _fish_ properly.”

“Oh I think I’m doing just fine.” Zachariah leaned forward, setting a Grace-lit hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

The demon grunted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. He glanced at Gabriel, urging him to hurry the hell up with just his eyes and the set of his mouth.

“You two just reek with power not your own,” the angel continued. “Whatever you’re up to, it won’t work. Every day Dean’s resolve weakens. It’s only a matter of time, and then you’ll pay for all your meddling.”

“That was always your problem, Zach. You assume too much.” Gabriel finished drawing and slammed his hand onto the sigil. “And you know what happens when you assume.”

Zachariah had a split-second to glare and sputter before he was teleported out of the car.

Crowley shut his eyes against the white light, but Gabriel put a hand over the demon’s to keep the steering wheel steady.

“You okay?” Gabriel asked and sent out a little magic to check the damage. It was a minor burn, but it was Grace and hard for Crowley’s demon blood to heal, so Gabriel added an extra touch of trickster powers to help the process.

“Fine.” Crowley righted himself, shaking out the shoulder that Zachariah had touched. “Why must all of your brothers be insufferable dicks?”

Gabriel smiled and relaxed back into his seat. “You’re not one to talk about pain-in-the-ass families, cupcake.”

The demon chuckled. “Either way, it looks like our good luck is about to run out.”

“What else is new?” The trickster summoned a piece of chalk. “I’ll start warding the car. You gun it to Pestilence.”

“Not a problem.”


	6. The Road So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different—an interlude with Chuck and Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't shoot me. This is something of a prologue, but I felt it would be better served here, to see the backstory revealed in the last two chapters from a different perspective. Consider it us checking in with Cas. This is the last quiet moment before the everything hits the fan, have no fear. Besides, this was really fun to write, so don't rain on my parade. :P

The surprise wasn’t that Chuck found Cas sitting on a rock at the edge of camp staring off into space. Rather it was a sober and alone Cas that the prophet happened upon, and to make it worse Cas _smiled_ when Chuck approached.

“Is there something I should know about?”

Cas kept his gaze on the forest ahead of them. “I don’t blame you for not remembering. Dean’s done his best to make sure everyone forgets.”

“Remember?” That day’s date smacked Chuck in the face. He sat down next to Cas but wasn’t bold enough to put even a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Sam. It’s been a year, hasn’t it?”

The fallen angel sighed a laugh. “You’re the first person to say his name since he left.”

Chuck bit his lip, couldn’t say that it wasn’t that no one talked about Sam—they just didn’t do it around Cas or Dean. Instead he opted for, “Sorry. Do you want to be alone?”

“No. I’ve been alone long enough. Besides, I’m not here to mourn,” Cas said. He tipped his gaze up to the sky. “Just thinking.”

Alarms went off in Chuck’s head. Cas spent most of his time fighting Croats, high as a kite, or surrounded by the bodies of strangers, anything and everything he could do to prevent him from thinking. Chuck closed his eyes and ventured a guess as to what was on the fallen angel’s mind. “Dean’s going to do it, isn’t he?”

There was an unnerving serenity in Cas’ voice when he replied, “Yes. And soon.”

Chuck exhaled. “Damn it.”

And then it was Cas putting a hand on Chuck’s shoulder, like he was in a position to comfort anyone. “This has been a long time coming. I’m surprised Dean lasted this long without Sam, but I knew he’d break eventually.”

The prophet looked hard at Cas. The man’s face was calm, at peace. “You’re not going to stop him?”

Cas smiled again, that enigmatic simper, like he still held all the mysteries of the universe in his hands. “I didn’t stop Sam, did I?”

No, he hadn’t. The whole camp had seen the younger Winchester leave, and amidst all of Dean’s raving and onslaught of insults and threats, Cas had stood by without a word. He hadn’t picked sides, keeping equal distance from both brothers. The angel didn’t even return Sam’s only goodbye, nor did he follow Dean when he stalked off once Sam was out of sight.

“I’ve always wondered about that,” Chuck said. “Why didn’t you try to stop Sam? He would’ve listened to you.”

“We talked the night before he left for Detroit.” Cas’ smile faded, bright blue eyes dulled with a sadness he fought every day with pills and orgies. “I did try to get him to stay, but Sam’s logic was sound. The world is in shambles. Even Heaven thinks it’s not worth saving. Sam just wanted to end everyone’s suffering.”

Something pulled at Chuck’s spirit, and his hands itched for pen and paper. The prophet’s eyes widened. Long had that urge been silent, but it was unmistakable. Could it be…?

“Heaven thinks Earth isn’t worth saving,” he found himself saying, the words coming out of his mouth unbidden.

“They abandoned it, so they must.”

“Heaven,” Chuck said again. “Not God.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, and the barest of smirks curled one corner of his lip. “You would be the one to know if God had a different opinion. Does he?”

“I don’t know.” Chuck shook his head. This revelation was different from all the others he’d had during and just before the Apocalypse, a surge of thoughts and feelings not his own, all unidentifiable and uncatchable, instead of head-splitting migraines and crystal-clear visions. He took a deep breath and tried to sort some of it out. “I think… I don’t think God really has an opinion, but that doesn’t mean we can’t save the world.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Cas cocked his head to the side, one of the few angelic mannerisms he had left. “The only way to stop the Apocalypse is to kill Lucifer or Michael before they do it themselves, and the one being who could has stated vehemently that he is unwilling.”

Thoughts turned into voices inside Chuck’s head, voices that screamed and wailed in protest, and the prophet fought to hear himself over the din. “You asked Gabriel to kill Michael or Lucifer? When?”

The fallen angel frowned and broke eye contact. “When I visited him and Crowley a year ago. I was upset, and I wanted some kind of vengeance for Sam, to make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain. Gabriel talked me out of doing it myself, and again I was able to see why he couldn’t do it either. You still haven’t answered my question.”

Chuck’s voices receded to whispers, and the soft words coalesced into an image in his mind. Four rings. A cage. Peace. “The Cage. We can reopen it and shove the devil back inside. All we need are the rest of the Horseman’s rings.”

“That would certainly put a crimp in the Ineffable Plan.” Cas leaned back and twisted to look over his shoulder at the camp. “But I can’t leave Dean, not now.”

“None of us can. It’s too dangerous out there with the Croats,” Chuck said with a nod. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, where he kept the rings of War and Famine. The mission to stop the Horsemen had mostly been a bust, but disabling those two had helped stem the tide. Dean had figured the safest place to keep two of the most powerful objects in the universe was on Chuck; after all, no one dared to steal from a prophet of the Lord. “There are those who could do it. It’s just a question of if they _will_.”

Cas looked back at Chuck. “It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve tried to stop the Apocalypse.”

A few more images flooded Chuck’s mind, things he hadn’t heard about the once-King of the Crossroads and the fallen archangel. Crowley being dispatched by Lucifer’s demons, too distracted by Gabriel’s death at the hands of his former pagan allies to care. Both clawing their way out of Purgatory to find each other. Chuck smiled. “True. Crowley should enjoy such an elegant solution to all of his problems.”

He handed the rings over to Cas, who stared at them for a while. “I wonder if Gabriel knew about this option, if he thought it was possible, though if he did I don’t know if I blame him for not fighting. He’s already lost so much, and loss I understand well.”

Chuck squeezed Cas’ shoulder to bring him back to the present, confident after his revelation. The contact handily quieted the voices too. “If you’ll deliver those and the mission to Crowley and Gabriel, I have one more favor to ask. Once you get back, stall Dean. Just find a way to keep him from saying yes. We need to buy them time.”

“I think I can do that.” Cas pocketed the rings and stood, taller than Chuck remembered and a light in his eyes. If the prophet squinted, he could swear he could make out the shadows of outstretched wings behind Cas. “I suppose there’s an even more important question to be asked.”

“What?” Chuck blinked, and the wings were gone. “Did I miss something?”

Cas smirked. “How am I supposed to get to their bunker? The Impala is ruined, and neither of us can’t fly.”

The most important object in the universe. That phrase bounced and echoed around in Chuck’s brain. His fingertips began to tingle, and soon they were glowing with a white light. He’d have to add that to his list of _The Perks of Being a Prophet of the Lord_. “Not for long.” He looked back to Cas. “Be quick, before Dean realizes you’re gone.”

“I can take my time then,” Cas said, a dark chuckle around his words.

Chuck dragged himself up to stand. “You know what I mean.” He touched his fingers to Cas’ forehead. “Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, if you guys ever spot a typo or error in the text, please don't hesitate to let me know. I sometimes speed-write these, and I definitely don't have a beta, so mistakes happen. Please and thank you.


	7. Through Sickness & Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid pair head to take out Pestilence, and they get help from a very unexpected place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of warning before you dive in: this chapter was a game-changer for me in a way, because the characters who show up to help? Yeah, I didn't plan that at all. But thanks to one of the comments last week, I was inspired to do more with the whole "spotlight on the minor characters" theme, so here you go. Enjoy! (And please don't yell at me; I'm planning to write a prologue explaining how they came to be in their current situation.)

After the run-in with Zachariah, both Gabriel and Crowley were paranoid of another incident with angels. They drove straight through the night, not stopping for food or gas or sleep. Gabriel kept the car fueled with a snap of his fingers every three hundred miles, and they were too distracted to think about eating other than the trickster’s continual abuse of lollipops.

Somewhere near the Alabama-Tennessee border, Crowley flicked on the heat to combat the evening spring chill. Gabriel was drifting in and out of a restless sleep, when a loud rattling startled him awake.

“What is that?” he asked.

Crowley glanced between the road and the vents, one eyebrow raised. “Haven’t the foggiest.” The demon put a hand on the dashboard with his fingers outstretched. “The car seems fine.”

The trickster frowned. The noise was irritating enough that he had to figure out the mystery behind it. “Let me see,” he said and set his hand next to Crowley’s. He put out a little magic, its tendrils finding the demon’s magic and weaving and twining with it in the Impala’s inner workings. Gabriel squinted as he tried to see what his magic did. “Are those… Legos?”

They withdrew their magic, Crowley shaking his head and Gabriel confused. The trickster would’ve discussed it, but they were careful about conversation in the car now. While Gabriel was sure he’d cleared out any kind of angelic tracking device Zachariah might have planted, they couldn’t take any chances. It was bad enough Balthazar knew what they were about; all it would take was a few choice words to get back to Michael, and all their plans would be shot.

* * *

The desolation and destruction witnessed in New Orleans was nothing compared to the Midwest, ground zero for the Croatoan virus. More and more packs of zombies popped up as they closed in on the Niveus Pharmaceuticals headquarters. These met their ends at the Impala’s front end, enchanted with a tight forcefield of trickster magic.

The expending of resources turned out to be a wise idea by the time the pair hit the epicenter of Pestilence’s domain, Lima, Ohio. Croats were everywhere, but they didn’t slow Crowley and Gabriel down. Crowley only brought the car to a stop when they were within sight of Niveus Pharmaceuticals, and strategy and rest became something of a requirement.

After a brief nap, they surmised the situation. The building was warded by several layers on the outside, forcing traffic through two points of entry, the front door and the back door. Demons patrolled the area in strict formation, with no convenient gaps between routes for them to exploit.

“Looks like we’ll have to push through the old-fashioned way.” Gabriel said, as he twirled his angel blade between his fingers and leaned against the Impala’s side.

“Azi would have made this easier, but he also might have given us away.” From the trunk Crowley retrieved a shotgun, extra rock salt shells, and two flasks of holy water. He handed one to Gabriel. “Besides, we could do with a bit of swashbuckle, and you know it.”

Gabriel smirked, because the demon wasn’t wrong. He was antsy, this side of twitching. Two years of being on the vigil for Croats had changed his appetite for violence, and sinking his blade into something sounded good right about now. He glanced at the flask in Crowley’s hand. “Mind the splash, cupcake.”

The demon mirrored the expression. “Keep an eye for stakes, darling. These grunts might actually be expecting us.”

“And here I thought we were far too clever for that.” Gabriel straightened. “So, back door?”

Crowley nodded. “Sneakier, much more our style.”

There was no arguing that. They slunk along the perimeter of the headquarters, until they had a straight shot to the back door. Difficult though it was, they waited for the patrol routes to go in their favor, though the advantage wasn’t much, and then made a dash for it.

Gabriel took point, his blade the faster and more importantly quieter method of dispatching demons. Crowley hung back, using what telekinesis he could to keep an enemy in place, though sometimes it was simpler just to teleport behind one and apply the butt of his shotgun to the back of their heads.

The amount of opposition was healthy but less than expected, even given their planning. To increase suspicion, when they reached the back door it was wide open, the body of the demon who might have been guarding it slumped on the floor with a stab wound in its stomach.

The trickster nudged the corpse with his foot. “I’m not even going to be grateful for that.”

“Someone can’t have beaten us to the punch.” Crowley knelt and examined the injury, fingertips brushing against the new air hole for the meatsuit’s intestines. Just as he did, he hissed and jumped back like he’d been burnt. “Fuck. An angel blade did this,” Crowley said, flexing his hand and looking between it and the body.

“What angel would want to raid Pestilence’s place?”

“Hello, boys.”

Demon and trickster whirled to see two women, well two demons in female meatsuits. One was dark blonde and about the same height as Gabriel’s vessel, the other shorter and brunette. The dark-haired demon was holding an angel blade still dripping with its last victim’s blood.

Gabriel relaxed, but Crowley wasn’t nearly as trusting and kept one hand near the trigger of his shotgun. “Fancy meeting you here, Bela, Meg.”

“What took you two so long?” Bela asked, British accent sharp around the edges, clashing nicely with Crowley’s rounder, growling tones. “We’ve had the path cleared for ages.”

“Pardon us for not rushing headlong into danger,” Crowley said, hackles well and truly raised.

That reaction would be courtesy of Meg. Even though the two were more or less on the same side now, here at the end of things, their former roles as one of Lucifer’s most loyal and one of his would-be assassins still haunted them.

“I take it Balthazar ratted on us,” Gabriel said and put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him calm.

Bela smirked. “More like we forced it out of him. You don’t bring home a hellhound and expect not to give an explanation.”

Even as Gabriel tightened his grip on his demon’s shoulder, Crowley surged forward. “If you touch a hair on my dog’s head—”

“Your mutt is fine,” Meg said with a roll of her eyes. “We, however, won’t be so lucky if we don’t get moving.”

“Wait, you’re helping us?” Gabriel asked. While he didn’t share Crowley’s distaste of Meg (after all, she wouldn’t be the first Lucifer had betrayed), her statement still came as a surprise.

Bela crossed her arms. “Hey, it’s our asses on the line too. Can’t trust you two to save the world all on your own, now can we? Not if half the stories I’ve heard are true.”

Given their previous attempts to stop the Apocalypse, Gabriel couldn’t disagree. “Careful of Balth’s stories. He tends to exaggerate.”

With the conversation turned away from Azi Crowley seemed to lighten up a little. “Speaking of him, did he happen to tell you the plan?”

Meg nodded. “Pump Mr. Sick full of his own medicine, grab the ring, and get out.”

“And, we’ve already discovered where they stash the virus,” Bela said.

“You always were efficient, Bela,” Crowley said, smiling just a touch. “Well then, lead the way.”

In the spirit of subterfuge and conservation of magic, the group took the stairs. Both the elevator and teleportation would have forced them into a vulnerable position, and the climbing didn’t bother any of the supernatural creatures. A few of Pestilence’s demons crawled the stairwell, but with Meg in the lead and Gabriel at the rear they were but a distraction.

Meg stopped them at the fifty-ninth floor. “It’s here. Only problem is, none of the rooms this far up are identified. We’ll have to do a brute-force search to find the storage room.”

“Great. Not like we’re working on a time table or anything.” Gabriel shook his head. “All right, let’s split up.”

“Because that’s not a guaranteed way to get us all killed,” Meg said.

Crowley gave her a look. “We haven’t got time for anything else.”

Bela stepped between them. “If we stand and here and bicker we _will_ get killed, so can we not?”

Gabriel and Crowley took the left half of the floor, leaving Meg and Bela the other side. Most of the offices were normal and unlocked, but halfway through their search Gabriel encountered a sealed, white door with no knob.

“I think we found it,” he said and applied enough of his powers to pry it open.

The place was tiny, crammed wall-to-wall with shelving units lined with boxes of vials.

Crowley plucked one of the vials from its box and turned it on its side. “CRT-1585,” he read from the label, a grin forming on his face. He pocketed two of the vials and tossed two to Gabriel. “Let’s go knock the Horseman from his saddle.”

The demon went out into the hallway first. Gabriel lingered, toying with the idea of setting the room ablaze. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the Crowley utter a frustrated, “Bugger.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and peeked his head into the doorway. Another demon, this one wearing a blond, mid-twenties man, had joined Crowley in the hallway.

“Well isn’t this a surprise, Crowley,” the newcomer said. “Last I heard you were slumming it over in Purgatory.”

“Didn’t suit me,” Crowley said. “I see the Apocalypse hasn’t done you any favors either. Brady, wasn’t it?”

This Brady character sneered. “Well you try being cooped up in this building for the last four years. Speaking of, what _are_ you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re trying to suck up to a Horseman like that one coward angel.”

The trickster took that as his cue to jump into the conversation. He teleported behind Brody, grabbed the demon’s arm, and with his blade carved a binding symbol into his skin.

Brady groaned and cursed, twisting to glare at Gabriel. “You’re alive too? Figures traitors would stick together.”

Gabriel bent the demon’s arm further. “We’re here to see your boss, not talk to you. Take us to him.”

“You can’t be serious,” Brady said with a pained laugh.

Crowley splashed him with holy water, and Gabriel held Brady in place. “Deadly. Now, if you don’t mind?”

The Horseman’s lackey grunted and gnashed his teeth, but he led Crowley and Gabriel to a locked elevator on the other side of the floor. Along the way, they passed Bela and Meg, who took quick notice of the situation and made themselves scarce. Gabriel only hoped they didn’t run on them now.

The elevator ride up to the seventieth floor was silent and more than just a little awkward. Gabriel shot a look to Crowley, asking with the barest of movements what they were going to do with Brady. Crowley gave a little nod to the trickster’s blade and then to the door, which seemed like a solid enough plan.

With a bright ding, the elevator door slid open to reveal a pallid, feeble-looking old man lounging in an armchair. The White Horseman himself, Pestilence.

He didn’t seem surprised to see them either. In fact, he clapped once the trio stepped into the room and rasped out, “How clever of you to have made it this far, boys, I’ll admit, but this as far as you go.”

Brady started to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat, turning into an unsettling gurgle. The demon collapsed and didn’t move again.

“He’s served his usefulness,” Pestilence said.

Crowley took a half-step back. “How…? Your powers only affect humans.”

The Horseman grinned and twisted the ring on his left hand. “Why don’t you find out?”

Gabriel tried to shield Crowley, but it did no good. The demon crumpled to the ground with a keening groan, blood trickling from his mouth.


	8. Kings of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which spare vials of the Croatoan virus come in handy. And we learn the real weakness of pagan gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEDNESDAY! Sorry, but still Wednesday, and I'm damn proud of that. Oh, and I don't know if anyone's noticed, but the Niveus Pharma. building? I may or may not have modeled it after the Shinra HQ Building from _Final Fantasy VII_. Just thought I'd let you guys know. No regrets!

Crowley coughed and made an attempt to stand, but another twist of Pestilence’s ring had him writhing on the floor anew.

Gabriel wanted to help him, but he didn’t dare turn his back on the Horseman. “So is that how you entertain yourself these days? Experimenting on demons? I’m sure Luci’s proud.”

“Lucifer stopped caring about anything besides his squabble with his brother once most of the humans were wiped out. I’ve had to ensure the loyalty of the demons here somehow. Besides, it’s fun to watch the cretins squirm,” Pestilence said. He eyed Gabriel’s blade and leaned back in his chair. “Though I can’t imagine you could relate to that.”

The trickster’s grip on his weapon tightened, his mind racing to come up with some kind of plan. Crowley being incapacitated was going to make this a lot more complicated. He had to stall. “No, can’t say that I do. But I can appreciate all the effort you’ve put into it. You must’ve been really bored around here.”

Pestilence laughed. “Oh, you have no idea. The whole demon thing is getting dull, I must say. Now, a pagan god would be quite the test subject, especially when I have the leverage that I do.”

Behind him, Crowley coughed again, and Gabriel felt something hit him in the back of the ankles. The trickster almost kicked back, to tell Crowley that yes, he had this handled, but given the demon’s condition he thought better of it. Instead he opted for giving an overdramatic sigh and saying, “You do have me over a barrel. In fact, you win. I hereby consign myself to the fate of being your guinea pig.”

He dropped his blade, and to sell the act he even kicked it over to Pestilence’s chair, holding his hands up in surrender. The Horseman stared at him, hands folded under his chin in silent judgment. 

The whole charade must have had some kind of effect, because Crowley was able to sputter out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, angel?” 

Gabriel fought a smile, because the demon’s tone was perfect. He loved it when a scheme came together. “There’s no use fighting, Crowles. It’s only going to get one or both of us hurt, and I can’t have that.” Perhaps it was a bit much, but underselling it wasn’t going to do them any good. 

“Forgive me for not believing you.” Pestilence stood, putting a determined foot down on Gabriel’s blade, and looked behind him, precisely as the trickster had planned.

In the three seconds it took the Horseman to turn around, Gabriel’s blade flew out from under his foot and back into its rightful owner’s hand. The trickster pounced, but he wasn’t quick enough. 

Pestilence caught Gabriel round the neck and sent him flying across the room, into one of the floor to ceiling windows that served as three out of four of the walls in the Horseman’s penthouse office. Glass cracked and fractured where Gabriel collided with it, and it was only due to an application of magic that it didn’t break. The trickster struggled to stand, wind somehow knocked out of him, while Pestilence advanced on him. 

“Lucifer warned me about all your tricks, little archangel,” the Horseman said. He loomed over Gabriel, radiating an aura of weakness that the trickster couldn’t fight despite his best efforts. “Now let’s see how you feel about mine.”

That ring twisted once more, and Gabriel felt… something. He wriggled and writhed, trying to get away from the sensation, but it was merciless. “No, stop, please,” he said, breathless. 

The Horseman grinned. “You so-called gods are weaker than I thought.”

Without warning a laugh spilled out of Gabriel’s mouth, a burst of mirth that had Pestilence stepping back, face shifting from victorious to angry.

“Stop that.”

Gabriel tried; he honestly did, but it was no use. “I can’t,” he said. “It tickles!”

With a snarl Pestilence twisted his ring, hard enough that on a normal human it might have broken his finger. Gabriel broke into a fit of giggles, gasping for air and pleading (something he might have added for dramatic effect) for the torture to end. 

As quickly as it had come, the anger melted from Pestilence’s face. A smirk emerged in its place. He twisted his ring a third time, and suddenly Gabriel found himself unable to _stop_ laughing. 

The trickster couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of being tickled in all of his sensitive spots—his feet, sides, all the way up to his underarms, so much so that he almost didn’t notice when Pestilence let out a pained groan. The spell broke, though full awareness was slow to come back to Gabriel.

“Angel, hurry up and help me. We don’t know how long that dose will last,” came Crowley’s voice through the fog. 

One blink, another, and then Gabriel started to be able to see the scene in front of him. 

Pestilence was lying prone on the floor, less than three feet from Brady’s corpse, a syringe full of the Croatoan virus, made clear by its sterile-white label, sticking out from his leg. Gabriel knew he was gaping, mouth open so wide it could catch flies, but he was too busy trying to piece together what might have happened to care. 

Crowley spoke again. “C’mon, get off your arse. We have to move.”

That brought Gabriel back to the present. He clutched at his blade, only to find it missing. “What happened?”

“Snuck up on the bastard while you were chortling to death over there,” Crowley said. He crossed the room and helped Gabriel up. In the demon’s free hand was the trickster’s blade, which he handed back. Crowley patted his jacket pocket. “I’ve got the ring too, so let’s burn the evidence and get the hell out of here.”

Dazed, Gabriel allowed Crowley to lead him back to the elevator. On the way out, he happened to glance down at Pestilence’s body and noticed the missing left ring finger, not to mention the fact that the rest of the corpse was rapidly disappearing. He shook his head. 

“Please tell me you didn’t keep the finger.”

The demon gave him a look, one that wasn’t entirely devoid of affection. “And ruin my last nice suit? Are you insane?”

Together they snapped their fingers, and the seventieth floor was lit ablaze.

* * *

The elevator only went so far as the fifty-ninth floor. Upon exiting, Gabriel asked, “Stairs again?”

Meg and Bela arrived with the answer.

“The other elevators are locked down. The only way out is the stairs or jumping out the window,” Bela said. In their absence she had collected a demon-killing weapon of her own, a knife covered in Enochian symbols.

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, rubbing his chin. “We could all survive the jump.”

The brunette demon glared at him. “And we’d use up all our energy healing ourselves.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “And I don’t know about you lot, but I’ve seen enough of the damned Horsemen of the Apocalypse to last me a lifetime, even one of ours. So for once we agree, Meg. Stairs it is.”

Meg looked caught between disgust and smugness, which Gabriel took as progress.

The group headed down the stairs, only to find their way hindered. Croats had joined Pestilence’s demons, but it didn’t slow them down. Meg and Gabriel took care of the demons again, while Crowley and Bela double-teamed the zombies. They managed to make it outside, through the front door this time, with hardly a scratch, but found their biggest challenge yet awaiting them.

“Holy mother of sin,” Crowley said.

Instead of worrying about the enemies, Gabriel turned to his allies. Meg was tense, blade twirling in her fingertips, while Bela stood coolly beside her. On his other side Crowley was scanning the crowd of demons and Croats, eyes shifting from creature to creature like he was counting them.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed Crowley’s odd behavior. Meg twisted to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Crowley, don’t you fucking dare run on us.”

Crowley shot her a glare before teleporting, and Gabriel bit down a curse. He had a plan, the trickster told himself, because Crowley always had a plan. He wouldn’t just—

Gabriel’s thoughts were interrupted when the demons fell upon them. It was a rush of splash, stab, dodge, stab again. For a moment he forgot all together that Crowley wasn’t just behind him, until he heard the roar of the Impala’s engine.

“I swear to Dad, cupcake, if you don’t get back here…”

On cue, the engine’s rumbling grew closer, and Croats and demons started running, though many weren’t fast enough to get out of the way in time. The Impala mowed down the poor saps, still enchanted with Gabriel’s magic.

The ladies stopped, and Bela smirked at the trickster. “I see you finally put your powers to good use.”

“Every so often,” Gabriel said, smiling despite himself.

The Impala came to a stop in front of them, and Crowley stuck his head out the window, preceded by a splash of holy water. “Get in, before they do!”

A few bold Croats swarmed them as they got to the car, but Gabriel expanded the magic field to knock them back. Bela and Meg jumped in the backseat, while the trickster triumphantly called shotgun.

For a moment Crowley didn’t move, eyes fixed ahead and grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled. Gabriel didn’t blame him. This was it, what could be the beginning of the end. 

“Um, Detroit?” Meg asked, breaking the silence.

Without a word, Crowley threw the Impala into reverse and left Niveus Pharmaceuticals in the dust.


	9. Trouble with the God Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chase is on, and angels prove to be a massive pain in the arse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting all early and stuff (relatively speaking). Go me! Mostly I just felt really bad for how late I posted last week's chapter, so I was determined to get this one done sooner. Also, I feel like this is the chapter where things get freaking epic, so whoo! Enjoy, guys!

Bela leaned forward in her seat, angling to get a glance at the map in Gabriel’s lap. “How much farther until we reach Detroit?”

The trickster checked his map against the next road sign they passed. “A hundred and six miles, give or take.”

“Damn it,” Meg said. She twisted to look out the back window. “At least tell me we have the gas to get us there.”

“Full tank,” Crowley said with a glance down at the fuel gauge. “Any sign of the bastards yet?”

Meg frowned. “There’s a few cars gaining on us. Ten minutes tops before they’re on us.”

The Impala’s engine groaned in protest as they sped up. Gabriel put a hand on the dashboard. “Sorry, Baby. It’s for the best.”

He could feel Bela rolling her eyes without even having to look. “What are you, a Winchester?”

“Spend long enough in this car, and you become one,” the trickster said in a singsong voice. “Which reminds me, why are you two still here?” Crowley kicked his shin and shot him a look, so Gabriel added, “Not that I’m ungrateful for the help. Just curious.”

The ladies exchanged a glance, and after a moment of dueling stares, Bela replied, “Mostly we just want to get the hellhound out of our house, though he is remarkably well-trained for a monster.”

“Fair enough,” Gabriel said, nodding.

Crowley smirked but was otherwise silent on the matter. Perhaps there was hope that none of them would try to kill each other before this was over.

Headlights that had been little dots in the rearview mirror grew, until Bela and Gabriel had to lean back to avoid the glare.

“Here they come,” Meg said. She turned to Gabriel. “Will that forcefield of yours hold?”

The trickster tried to gauge how much energy he had left and compared it against the number of cars behind them. “Not the way we want it to.”

“We might have another problem,” Crowley said. He glanced between the rearview and side mirrors. “The demons aren’t alone.”

Gabriel checked the passenger’s side mirror. Sure enough, he could make out white-blue flickers of Grace and outlines of wings. “Shit. Angels. Zach must’ve put two and two together.”

“Us going to Niveus wasn’t exactly subtle, love,” his demon said. “The car isn’t going to go any faster, so we can’t avoid a fight for much longer. We need a plan.”

“I think I’ve got an idea,” Bela said.

There was some shuffling and then a loud crack, and Gabriel could feel demonic powers at work. “What are you doing?”

Bela tossed his half-full bag of candy into his lap. “Saving our asses. You took out the devil’s trap from the trunk, I hope?”

“Of course,” Gabriel said. He twisted, back against the door, to see what she was up to. Half of the backseat was torn down, providing access to the trunk. The trickster opened his mouth to inquire further, but Bela was already crawling through the gap. A grin spread across his face. “Holy water’s towards the front, holy oil’s on the left.”

“Thank you," Bela said, voice muffled, before disappearing entirely into the trunk.

There was a crash above them, and the remaining three looked up to see the Impala’s roof caving in. Meg and Crowley winced as a pulse of Grace covered the car, but the wards kept it from doing any damage.

“Shall we?” Meg asked, holding up her angel blade.

Gabriel swallowed hard. “Try to maim, not kill, okay? It’s still my brothers and sisters out there.”

She shrugged. “‘Try’ is about all I can promise.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They rolled down their windows and hoisted themselves up to greet the intruders.

Without his Grace, Gabriel couldn’t immediately identify who these angels were, but he could get a sense for how much power they held. The two standing on the roof now seemed to be mere angels, soldiers. Cannon fodder.

Meg stood on the window, holding on to the car with one hand and used the other to stab one of the angels in the leg. He howled and rolled off the car, though he managed to shoot off a bolt of Grace as he did so. The demon dodged it by leaning back with her legs hooked on the door to keep from falling.

The trickster used the distraction to apply a similar treatment to the other angel. This one threatened to teeter onto the windshield, and Gabriel had to use a bit of magic to direct his fall off to the side, so Crowley’s driving would be unhindered.

After dispatching those two, it became a constant stream of angels appearing on the roof. A demon or two started joining every batch of angels, which in a strange twist of events made things easier. The angels started throwing around bolts of Grace at will, but with the crowding and Meg and Gabriel’s quick reflexes, they never found their intended target. The collapsing demons distracted the angels, who didn’t seem to care that their “allies” were falling, turning them into open targets for the demon and trickster’s blades.

“The company you keep just gets worse and worse, Gabriel,” came Zachariah’s voice over the din of the fight.

Gabriel cursed and swung wild, blade slicing through the air at nothing. “Get your cowardly ass out here, Zach, instead of sending innocents to do your dirty work!”

Across the car, Meg rolled her eyes, though Gabriel didn’t miss the way her grip tightened on her blade and her jaw clenched.

There was a yell inside the Impala, definitely Bela, but the trickster couldn’t make out the words. Crowley gave a short response, which sounded an awful lot like, “Wait for my signal.”

Zachariah chose then to make his appearance, clearing out the remaining angel on the roof. He grinned at Gabriel before going for Meg, grabbing her by the throat and pulling her up to the top of the car.

To her credit, Meg didn’t struggle or plead. She planted her foot squarely in Zachariah’s crotch and then slashed at his chest with her blade. The angel hissed and dropped her, staggering back.

The trickster felt Crowley nudge his knee and tug it upwards, and Gabriel got the message. He climbed to the roof, placing himself between Meg and Zachariah. Gabriel helped her down, sending her what healing magic he could, before turning to the angel. “Call off your soldiers and go. No one else needs to get hurt.”

Zachariah gave a wilting, pained laugh. “Michael’s going to smite you all first thing once he wins.” He nodded, and there was a surge of Grace in the air that Gabriel could feel even with his trickster powers.

“Why do you always have to do things the hard way?” Gabriel gave the roof a purposeful stamp of his foot, a signal to Crowley to unleash whatever he and Bela were planning.

Crowley shouted, and the trunk of the Impala flew open, lid threatening to smash the back window, and out popped Bela wielding… was that a paint sprayer? Gabriel sidestepped as she applied a dose of holy oil in Zachariah’s direction before aiming for the angels coming at them. Zachariah raised an eyebrow and stared down at himself.

“Am I supposed to be scared?”

A hand appeared on the driver’s side, just behind Zachariah’s feet, and it snapped its fingers. Every angel that’d been touched by the holy oil burst into flames. The lesser grunts immediately changed the direction of their flight, wailing in pain, but Zachariah stood firm.

He lunged at Gabriel. The trickster cursed and apologized in the same breath, before sinking the blade into the angel’s midsection.

Gabriel didn’t have time to mourn his brother. As Zachariah’s body slumped, he tossed it off the car and rejoined his comrades inside.

“Well, that should keep the angels away for a while,” Gabriel said.

Crowley put a hand on his knee, the touch just barely there, but it was enough. “Doesn’t look like the demons are waiting for them.”

Meg was plastered to the backseat, panting. “We can’t keep fighting like this.”

“Then we’ll have to outrun them,” Bela said. In the rearview mirror, Gabriel could see she had one hand intertwined with Meg’s, the other on the door.

The trickster put a hand on the dashboard, dredging up his last reserves of magic, and glanced at Crowley. His demon nodded and pushed the Impala as hard as it would go, the engine so loud it quieted any protest. Their combined mechanical and magical efforts kept them ahead of their pursuers, but the biggest challenge still awaited them.

* * *

The demons thinned the closer they got to Detroit, disappearing entirely once they were about twenty miles out from the city. Gabriel would have been grateful for the assistance, but there was an audible gasp from each of the other occupants of the car.

“More angels,” Crowley said through gritted teeth.

The trickster tried to read the area, but his powers were shot. “A giant devil’s trap?”

“No, just a shit-ton of Grace,” Meg said, sounding exhausted. She had recovered from her run-in with Zachariah, but only just, even without contributing any of her powers to their flight.

They had to slow down, in an effort to conserve what energy they had left. For some reason they continued unmolested, and it wasn’t until they reached the city limits proper that Gabriel saw why.

“Raphael.”

The Impala came to a stop, though it was nothing Crowley did. Raphael, the archangel himself, Gabriel’s least favorite brother, stood in the middle of the highway, blocking the way into Detroit.

“Plan?” Bela asked.

Meg laughed, though it sounded forced even for her. “We can run or we can fight. At this point, I’m not even sure I care which one we do.”

Crowley looked at Gabriel, determination in his brown eyes. “He’s your brother, angel, Grace or not. This doesn’t have to end bloody.”

“Right.” The trickster nodded and gave his demon a brief, grateful smile. “Whatever you do, don’t fight or try to run. Just let me do the talking.”

“This time and only this time,” Bela said.

The four exited the car, all doing their best to stand tall and not look like drained messes of supernatural beings.

Raphael cast an imperious gaze over them as they approached. “Is this how you planned to save the world, Gabriel? With a ragtag bunch of demons?”

“Since when do I plan anything? You know better than that, Raph,” Gabriel said.

“I do.” Raphael smirked for a moment before returning to his regular, stony self. “But you’re intention _is_ to save the world, isn’t it? Coming here with the Horsemen’s rings, that’s the only explanation, though it’s foolish of you to even try.”

Gabriel fought to keep his face calm and neutral, to keep from clenching his fists at Raphael’s holier-than-thou tone. Memories of millennia gone by surfaced in his mind, all the times during their fledging, and sometimes even older, years when his brother would put him down, and Gabriel would go running to Lucifer or Michael. He couldn’t run now, wouldn’t, and even if he did the one person he’d run to stood beside him. “So it’s foolish to want to save everything we were charged to protect? Everything Dad gave us?”

The archangel narrowed his eyes. “Father left, Gabriel. There’s nothing left to protect or save. Our brothers are in their true vessels, preparing to fight one last battle. To resist now is hopeless.”

“Really? That is fascinating.” Gabriel huffed, because he really hated to play this card, but it might be the only thing to get Raphael to listen to reason. Or to let them walk out of here alive. “Because I think Dad would disagree with you. He called on Chuck, and the prophet gave us this mission. This world is worth saving, always has been. Bringing about Paradise isn’t going to send Dad running back, and deep down you know it.”

Raphael growled and brandished his blade. “You insolent—”

“What’d I miss?”

As one the group turned to see Balthazar, looking a bit worse for wear than when Gabriel and Crowley saw him last, but he still wore that relentless smirk.

“Brother. I suggest you leave now, before I decide to treat you no better than these traitors and degenerates,” Raphael said, voice low.

Crowley and Bela bit down protests at the insults, and Gabriel almost smiled at their indignation.

Balthazar stepped toward Raphael, blade appearing in his hand. “Well that was uncalled for. I mean, we’re traitors sure, but degenerates? Never.” He looked at Gabriel and then nodded to the Impala.

Gabriel’s first instinct was to obey and get the hell out of there, but he’d made his choice, and he was sticking to it. He shook his head, and Balthazar rolled his eyes.

“Leave, brother, or I will not be merciful,” Raphael said, his attention fully on the Horsemen’s servant now.

“I’ve seen your brand of mercy, Raphael. I’ll pass.” Balthazar threw himself at the archangel blade-first, an attack which was easily deflected, and called over his shoulder, “Go!”

Bela and Meg were thrown in one direction, away from the Impala and the battle, while Crowley and Gabriel were all but tossed onto the hood.

“Damn it, Balthazar,” Gabriel said under his breath before getting in the passenger side.

Crowley turned the ignition and sped off, the engine giving off a sick groan at the treatment. “He’ll be fine, love. Balthazar’s got almost as many tricks up his sleeve as you do.”

Gabriel kept his eyes on the dueling angels until they were out of sight, and the Impala was well into the city. “I hope you’re right.”


	10. Like Bonnie & Clyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detroit is a nightmare, but that could be the Apocalypse talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're almost to the end, guys! I don't even know what to do with myself, I'm just so excited and terrified and happy and even a little sad 'cause it's almost over. Oh, and hey, that Sam/Dean/Cas tag that's been sitting up there since Chapter One? It may or may not finally get to see the light of day. :)
> 
> Also, most of this chapter was written in the aftermath of last night's episode, Meta Fiction. Just putting it out there. *deep sigh of so many fucking feels*

Despite being the center of Lucifer’s domain, Detroit managed to be in better shape than New Orleans. Buildings were in various states of disrepair, and it seemed like someone had a vendetta against each and every window, but the roads were clear and even marked in both Latin and Enochian, the latter scribbled on top of the former in a sign of angelic territory-marking.

“So, where to?” Crowley asked, as they barreled along into the inner city.

Gabriel shrugged, limbs heavy with dread and exhaustion. “No idea. Detroit was never part of the original plan. If I know my brothers, they’ve probably chosen someplace morbid like a cemetery.”

“Because the end of the world isn’t morbid at all.” Crowley chuckled. “Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then.”

The trickster felt Crowley send out a bit of his demon mojo, casting it out from the car like a net. The magic argued with the Grace in the air, recoiled from it, and perhaps that was the point. They followed the path laid out by that divergence, which lead them to roads not graffitied in Enochian. Along this route there were wards of every kind, not all of them tainted with demonic power. It should’ve been enough to keep them out, but their own warding on the Impala kept them cloaked enough to allow them to pass.

“I believe we’ve found the way to San Jose,” Crowley said. “There’s a cemetery nearby, probably the center of these wards. In which case—” He reached into his jacket. “You might want to take these.”

In Gabriel’s palm Crowley laid the Horsemen’s rings. “Why me?” the trickster asked. “I mean, hell, they’ll expect me to have them.”

Crowley’s hand lingered near his longer than necessary, fingertips just brushing his palm. “You’re the one who knows the incantation, darling. Besides, Michael might expect you to be carrying them, but Lucifer knows you’re smarter than that.”

“Of course. The old double double-cross.” Gabriel hooked his fingers around the heel of the demon’s hand, squishing their palms together, the rings digging into their skin. “Softie.”

To his surprise, Crowley didn’t pull his hand back, didn’t argue. He only smirked and returned the gesture before turning his attention back to the road.

* * *

The center of all the warding led them to Woodlawn Cemetery. Gabriel shook his head as they pulled up to the entrance. “Those predictable bastards.”

“Well they have been planning this for millennia,” Crowley said. “You ready for this?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Hell no, but we’re here, so.”

“Right.”

They drove through the cemetery. Only a few short years ago it must have been a beautiful place, but the Apocalypse had its way with it too, the once proud and impressive tombs now cracked and crumbling to pieces. Crowley clicked his tongue at the sight of an obelisk-shaped gravestone covered in fractures, threatening to fall apart, though worse was the sight standing in its shadow.

Two archangels circled each other at the edge of a lake, both wearing their true vessels, just like Gabriel had called it over four years ago. Sam Winchester starring as Lucifer, Dean starring as Michael, a celebrity death match for the ages.

Taking in a deep breath, Gabriel got out of the Impala, forcing a spring into his step. “Well looks like you two finally got what you wanted.”

His brothers stopped and turned. Lucifer, in an expression that could _almost_ pass for the younger Winchester brother, raised an eyebrow. “So the rumors were true, little brother. I’m glad you’ve finally decided to show some spine, but it’s too little, too late.”

Michael looked at Crowley, who was just now stepping out of the Impala, and narrowed his eyes, though otherwise his face remained blank. “Don’t make us do this, Gabriel.”

“No one makes us do anything,” Gabriel said. He blinked, trying to see past the brightness of the archangels and see the souls within their vessels, a task that would be so much easier if he had his Grace. “Something I think Sam and Dean would agree with.”

The devil let out a little laugh. “Oh Gabriel, you should know better.” He and Michael exchanged a look, and Lucifer sighed. “I’m sorry, brother.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to start in on his appeal to the Winchesters, when he found himself being thrown across the battlefield. A glance upwards told him it was Michael’s doing, the leader of Heaven advancing on him, one hand shot out to keep the trickster pinned against the obelisk.

“You know, when I kill a demon, I expect it to stay dead,” he heard Lucifer say, words punctuated by the sickening crunch of breaking bone.

Between blows Crowley managed to gurgle out, “Fight him, Moose! C’mon you—”

Michael stepped aside just enough for Gabriel to see Crowley on his knees in the grass, face purpled and blood running thick and bright red from his mouth, far too much. Gabriel fought against the power holding him, trying to escape, the mission momentarily forgotten and all his will bent on getting over to his demon.

His older brother’s lips spread into a thin line. “You’re willing to sacrifice returning to Heaven for this planet? For humans? For a demon? You always were the foolish one, Gabriel.”

The words brought Gabriel back round, though he couldn’t ignore the hopelessness starting to spread through his chest. He bit his lip and let his head fall back against the stone, praying to Dad or whoever was listening at this point that he wouldn’t have to watch Crowley die twice. “Nothing like risking the end of the world for what you love, right Dean?”

Michael shook his head, tightening his hold on Gabriel, forcing the breath out of him. “Just stop it. You’ve lost, and we’re all tired. Let this end the way it’s supposed to. It’s already been delayed long enough.”

A deep voice cut through Crowley’s groans and Michael’s pontificating. “Then why not delay it forever?”

The archangels looked up, still keeping Crowley and Gabriel held firmly in place. “Castiel,” Michael said with a frown.

And it _was_ Cas, leaning against the front of the Impala, like this was the most casual thing in the fucking world.

Lucifer released Crowley, the demon slumping to the ground and just managing to catch himself with his arms, and faced the fallen angel. “You all have had years to try and stop this, and you wait until now to take action? Michael, stab me now just to spare us all the useless heroics.”

Cas crossed his arms, eyes flicking between Lucifer and Michael. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, I just…”

The devil laughed again and started towards Cas. “Not you too, little angel.”

Blue eyes flashed with steely resolve, and for the first time Gabriel felt that maybe this would turn out all right, that they could win. “You two are the strongest beings I’ve ever met, stronger than even archangels. I know you can fight this. Please. For me.”

“All you had to do was ask, Cas.”

Gabriel fell the two feet back down to the ground, stumbling forward because that wasn’t Michael’s voice, the tone far too human to be his brother.

Suddenly Lucifer was nodding, shoulders drooping to make that tall body somehow seem smaller. “That’s all you ever had to do.”

And then Sam and Dean Winchester were walking towards Castiel, the fallen angel meeting them halfway and pulling them into a three-way hug.

Meanwhile Gabriel made his way over to Crowley, and it was then the trickster decided that his Father had to be paying attention, at least a little, because by some grace the demon was still alive. Gabriel ran his hand through Crowley’s hair, sending out every ounce of magic he had left to bring him back from the brink.

It wasn’t perfect healing, but it allowed Crowley to speak again. He leaned into Gabriel’s arms, surely out of exhaustion, and let out a choked laugh. “That arse couldn’t have shown up five minutes sooner?”

“Where’s your sense of theatrics, cupcake?” Gabriel clung to his demon for a moment longer, quietly reveling in the fact that he was alive and mostly whole, before helping him up to stand. “We haven’t got much time,” the trickster said, loud enough for Team Free Will to hear.

Dean tore himself away from Sam and Cas. “Time for what?”

Castiel clutched at their shirts and somehow looked them both in the eye at once. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Sam said.

The fallen angel dragged them in close again, and Gabriel took that as his cue. He pulled the Horsemen’s rings from his pocket and tossed them into the lake.

“ _Bvtmon tabges babalon._ ”

The water churned and swirled to form a maw in the center of the lake, a gaping pit that led straight to Hell. Words and touches were exchanged between Sam, Dean, and Castiel, but over the rush of the water Gabriel couldn’t hear, wasn’t sure he wanted to.

As one the three of them jumped into the vortex, clinging to each other even as the Cage swallowed them.

“It’s done,” Crowley said, voice flooded with relief.

Gabriel nodded. “Finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woodlawn Cemetery is a real place in Detroit, and for a graveyard it's absolutely gorgeous. [This](http://cemeterytravel.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/cimg5669.jpg) is the scenery I had in mind while writing this chapter, though I might have taken a couple liberties here and there. It's a fitting place, I think.


	11. Can't Stop the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three demons, two fallen angels, and a prophet have to decide how to fix the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, lovelies! The thrilling conclusion! A massive shout out to everyone who's helped me along the way, (Manda and Karu, you two are wonderful, wonderful human beings, okay? Okay.) and everyone who's left kudos and comments. I might have given up when the going got really tough if not for you guys. I feel like this is goodbye somehow, even though I've got a million and one more plot bunnies (I had to write them all down to keep track of them all, seriously) straining at the leash by this point. Maybe it's 'cause I've never finished a long-fic before? Either way, enjoy guys! We all, the author, the reader, and the characters, have earned it!

“So.”

“Now what?”

The question was a valid one. What did one do after stopping the end of the world? Currently Gabriel and Crowley sat at the edge of the lake, the Horsemen’s rings sitting demagnetized and useless in the sand between them, gazing at the water like it was going to turn around and spit out Sam, Dean, and Castiel. The trickster didn’t know what else to do. None of this seemed real, felt like it should’ve been impossible, though here they were. 

After a while Crowley pulled out a flask, an ordinary, alcohol-toting one, from his jacket. He took a sip before offering it to Gabriel.

“Is that the last of your Craig?” the trickster asked, staring at the flask. 

“Last of it in the world,” Crowley said with a shrug. “No better time than now to use it up. C’mon, let’s celebrate. We just saved the sodding world, angel.”

Gabriel laughed and nodded before accepting a drink from the flask. The scotch burned down his throat, definitely not his favorite, but since he didn’t have the energy to conjure up alcohol himself, it would have to do.

“You know, I’m starting to wonder why we did this,” Crowley said. 

“What?” Gabriel twisted a bit to look at the demon. “We did it to stop my moron brothers from destroying the world. To save what’s left.”

Crowley drew his knees up to his chest and stared at his flask, like it might hold all the answers. “Well that’s just it, isn’t it? There’s not much left of the world to save.”

“We can fix it,” Gabriel said. He thought about it for a moment, scotch swimming around his brain. “Okay, someone can fix it. ‘S not beyond repair.”

The demon looked up and laughed. “One sip, and you’re already toasted. Always were a lightweight.”

“Tired. Difference,” Gabriel said, though Crowley wasn’t wrong. The bastard rarely was. 

“It’s a bit too early to celebrate, brother,” came a deep, stern voice from behind them. 

Gabriel groaned, leaning against Crowley. He really did not have the energy for this. “Go away, Raph. It’s done. The Apocalypse was a failure. Get over it.”

There was a crunch of grass, and Raphael’s voice was closer. “Not while I still live, it’s not.”

Trickster and demon exchanged a glance, and they stood and faced the archangel, each taking two of the rings. Raphael would have to kill both of them if he was going to spring the lock on the Cage. 

“You’re very repetitive, you know that?” Crowley asked. 

Raphael glared. “Neither of you have the power to fight me, even at full strength, and I would rather avoid unnecessary bloodshed. So stand aside.”

“You’re not in a position to talk about avoiding bloodshed, Raphael.”

The voice belonged to neither Crowley or Gabriel. Instead it came from behind the archangel, sounding surprisingly meek given its words. 

“Chuck?” Gabriel asked. He had to look around Raphael to see the person at all, but it was in fact the prophet. Behind him were Balthazar, Bela, and Meg, the former bloody and being held up the latter two. 

The prophet nodded and then indicated to the beat-up angel. “See what I mean? You almost killed one of your brothers, Raphael, and for what? The Apocalypse?”

Raphael stiffened. “Yes. Though I thought I had killed him.”

“Funny thing about working for Death,” Balthazar said, voice strained. “Told me he owed me a promotion before sending me back out. I guess that was my get-out-of-dying-free card.”

Crowley chuckled. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’ll take your thanks in the form of getting my hound back.”

“Everything will be set to rights in due time. For now we have a bigger problem,” Chuck said. 

The archangel called forward his blade. “I will not stand down. We angels have waited too long for this day to come.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend to speak for all angel-kind. Just because you’ve been waiting for this day since the death of Muhammad doesn’t mean everyone else has.”

“Precisely. And I think you’ll stand down if you don’t have any other choice.” Chuck held out a hand, and the Horsemen’s rings flew out of Crowley and Gabriel’s hands and into his. The metal bands lit up white-hot for a moment before melting into nothingness. “There. The only way to open the Cage is gone.”

Raphael opened his mouth to protest, but a split-second later he backed down, and it didn’t take much for Gabriel to see why. 

Something about Chuck was… different. There was a light in his eyes, terrifying and warm and familiar all at once. For a moment Gabriel wondered, even dared to hope, but he squashed those thoughts as quick as they came, telling himself it was neither here nor there. 

Chuck was smiling now. “So, now we can move on to actually fixing this mess.”

Bela made a noise that any other time might’ve been a laugh, but now she couldn’t quite seem to make the effort. “That’s rather like dressing up a corpse at this point, isn’t it?”

“Unless the corpse is only mostly dead,” Gabriel said. What was it with demons and pessimism?

“And a miracle-cure is exactly what we have, if Heaven and Hell can work together instead of being at each other’s throats,” Chuck said. 

“Never.”

“No way in Hell. Literally.”

“You’re out of your bloody mind.”

“It’s… not impossible.”

The last voice belonged to Balthazar, and everyone looked at him. He shrugged. “I mean, we’re all proof that it can be done. Except for you, Raph.”

“Which might be why you’re the ones still standing after the dust has cleared,” Chuck said, gaze sweeping over them. “Raphael, no one knows Heaven better than you at this point. You can lead it with an even hand and help heal the planet and rebuild humanity.”

Silence was the only response he got from the archangel, and Raphael didn’t meet the prophet’s eyes. That was as close as they would get to acquiescence from him.

“That leaves Hell and how to keep the peace between the two realms.” Chuck turned to the trickster and the crossroads demon. “I was thinking you two would be perfect for the job.”

“What?” Crowley and Gabriel asked at the same time.

Chuck nodded. “Crowley, before Lucifer came roaring back, you were putting the pieces into place to take the throne of Hell, weren’t you? Well here’s your chance. And Gabriel, you could be the Messenger again, as an archangel with the whole benefits package and without the burden of reporting directly to God.”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open, and Gabriel could see all that old ambition ignite in his eyes. The demon hesitated however, didn’t quite say yes. Looking at the trickster, he replied, “It’s not a bad deal.”

_Messenger_. The word rang in Gabriel’s mind like a bell. It would mean being able to go to Heaven whenever he wanted. Or Hell, if he chose. And there was a time when that was all he wanted, to be able to go home, everything else be damned. Now the thought danced in front of him, and all Gabriel saw was a gilded prison and a dark pit, with everything he cared about either too far away or too quickly gone, and for the first time the earth under his feet seemed solid and far more inviting.

“No.”

Gabriel half-expected Crowley to object, but instead the demon gave a short nodd and took a little step back, closer to the trickster’s side. “Make that both of us.”

The prophet stammered, but Balthazar jumped in to save him. “Well then, if you’re accepting other applications, I’ll happily put mine in for the job.”

“The Pit could use a little feminine touch,” Meg said. “And being the Queen of Hell sounds pretty damned good.”

“You two are insane,” Bela said, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

Balthazar and Meg arched their eyebrows at her.

After a moment she relented with a small smile. “Though if you need help, I’m here. Someone needs to handle all the paperwork.”

“I… Okay.” Chuck took a breath and clapped his hands. “So, Meg will take care of Hell, Balthazar will keep everyone off the warpath, and Bela—”

“Will keep them from killing each other,” Bela said.

“Right.” Chuck looked at Gabriel. “Are you sure you don’t want to…?”

Gabriel shrugged. “We can help manage things on Earth, if you need us. Dad knows the humans need all the help they can get.”

“Don’t know if they’ll appreciate being represented by a demon and a pagan god, but it’s better than nothing,” Crowley said. He threw Gabriel a smirk, and that one look was enough to reassure the trickster, to cement the idea that everything was right with the world. For once.

“Team Humanity. It has a nice ring to it.” Chuck stepped back from them all, smiling wide and looking more like himself than he had a moment ago. “Let’s make sure this doesn’t happen again, okay? ‘Cause I think God might be out of backup plans.”

Raphael huffed, and this time Gabriel agreed.

In the millisecond it took to blink, the prophet disappeared from the cemetery. The blood was gone from Crowley and Balthazar’s faces, and Meg looked like she’d finally recovered her strength. Gabriel shared the feeling, magic surging at his fingertips again. A moment later the archangel was gone too, no doubt returning to Heaven to begin the rebuilding effort.

“You know, if Chuck had played up that god-like mystery of his more often, he might have gotten more dates,” Bela said, breaking the silence left in the prophet’s wake.

“Mortals and their short-sightedness,” Crowley said with a shrug.

Gabriel couldn’t help a smile. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“You’ve grown soft in your old age, Gabe,” Balthazar said.

“What can I say? I’m sentimental,” the trickster said. “Speaking of. Azi, remember?”

“Of course. A promise is a promise, after all.” The angel snapped his fingers, and Crowley’s hound appeared before them, bounding towards his master. Crowley bent and greeted Azi with the biggest smile Gabriel had ever seen him wear, going so far as to let the dog lick his face without complaint.

Bela made a face, though Gabriel noticed the affectionate quirk at the corner of her mouth. “Thank God. Maybe we can have some peace around the house now.”

Meg grinned. “Don’t count on that just yet. We’ve got lost time to account for, if you know what I mean.”

“Why limit ourselves to the house?” Balthazar asked. “I’m sure Raphael can wait until we take a nice long vacation in the Bahamas.”

“Bahamas? That’s not cliche or anything,” Meg said, though she was still grinning.

Another snap of Balthazar’s fingers and they too were gone.

Crowley straightened, one hand held out to get Azi to heel. “I’ll have to agree with Balthazar on this one. A vacation sounds wonderful.”

Gabriel jangled the keys to the Impala. “Road trip? For old time’s sake?”

“Why not?”

They headed back towards the car, Azi running ahead of them. Just before they parted ways to get to their respective sides, Crowley grabbed Gabriel’s arm. “Just one question, before we go.”

“You know why I didn’t say yes, Crowles,” Gabriel said.

The demon shook his head. “No, I really don’t. As much as we’ve done for each other, I know you would leap at the chance to go home. So why didn’t you?”

Gabriel bit his lip, debating his answer, before deciding to throw caution to the wind. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck. “’Cause I already am home.”

“Hmm.” Crowley threaded his fingers through Gabriel’s hair and pulled him closer, lips ghosting against his. “Actually, you were right, angel. I did know why.”

A smile tugged at the trickster’s mouth, and he _felt_ everything Crowley left unsaid in his words. He blinked, pulling back a bit. “What the hell?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I think— Oh that sneaky little—” Gabriel let out a laugh, a full, nigh hysterical laugh, his head falling forward onto Crowley’s shoulder. “My Grace. It’s back.”

“Well I hope you don’t feel like doing any smiting any time soon.”

Gabriel raised his head and met Crowley’s eyes, gold seeing brown for what felt like the first time in forever. “Oh, you’re not getting out of this that easy, cupcake.” 

The demon grinned. “Who said I was planning to, darling?”

Crowley hardly got the words out before Gabriel closed that last gap between them, kissing the demon senseless like he needed the contact to survive.

A bark from Azi brought their attention back to the present, because it certainly wasn’t the need to breathe. Crowley took the Impala’s keys in hand.

“Shall we?”

Gabriel snapped the three of them into the car, just for the hell of it, and they drove off into the sunset.

* * *

“You know, we should probably check on the house before we do anything else.”

“We can fight Croats after we sleep and shag for a week straight, Crowles.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.”


End file.
